


Coming Dead

by GreyWolfGhost



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Undead nightmare
Genre: AU, Gen, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:16:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWolfGhost/pseuds/GreyWolfGhost
Summary: As the zombie plague descends on Armadillo and the town people prepare to defend it, a father sends his only son on a dangerous journey to the safety of Fort Mercer with a wagon train. But with zombies roaming the lands, no trail is safe, no road is safe, no place of refuge is safe. Follows the storyline of the game. Was originally a one-shot, decided to continue the story. Characters from the game will be included.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just something I wrote on a whim, the idea came to me when I was playing the Undead version of the game and was playing bowling for zombies in Tumbleweed.

                                                                                       

 

I had been against the move from the start, sometimes you just get a feeling that something ain't going to turn out right, one of these days I'll learn to listen to that feeling an' put my foot down about.

After my mother died, the last thing I wanted to do was move away from everything I had grown up with, especially my friends and my grandparents. Unfortunately being ten has its downside and I had no say whatsoever in my living arrangements, I had even less say in how much I could bring with me, one suitcase and my rucksack was the most, so whatever I could fit in those two was what I could bring.

The town we moved to wasn't anything to talk about neither, I hated it the instant the train pulled closer. For one thing its name, who the heck names a town Armadillo and another it was in the middle of nowhere. I don't mind the middle of nowhere that's not a problem for me, I just have a problem with one that's in the middle of the desert nowhere. Give me an out of the way town that's in the woods and I can deal with it.

We didn't even have a house when we arrived in Armadillo. My father rented us two rooms above the saloon while he settled things regarding our new property. Apparently, a small farm outside of Armadillo was for sale my father felt it was fixable and could be turned into a profitable ranch, to which I wished him luck, I just didn't understand why I had to be dragged into it. My mother would never have tolerated the move, to begin with, and she'd be turning in her grave iffen she'd seen the manner of people in and out of that saloon.

Thankfully my father wasn't completely focused on the new ranch, because he did remember to enroll me in the local school and on top of that he bought me a horse. I think it was a bribe, but bribes would be tolerated.

I had just begun to settle into the new life my father was trying to build for us. The schoolmaster was kind but was responsible for educating ten kids between five and thirteen who for the most part wanted nothing to do with learning anything, his focus had to be on the kids who had no interest and needed help as opposed to the three kids who wanted to learn and were pretty well set. I made friends with these two kids pretty quick, as we had a lot in common.

I also became friends with the shopkeeper of the general store, who despite the fact he hated everyone who wasn't him and made that fact known to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen to him, he tolerated me for some reason. To avoid my schoolmates with who I was less welcomed, I spent time in his shop, sweeping up and stocking shelves for him.

I'd also listen to his complaints, his degrading comments about everyone who wasn't white, male, Protestant, American. I look back and wonder if he'd tolerate me as much as he did if he knew I was one of the specific people he complained about. My mother was Jewish and if there was one thing the Old Man hated the most it was Jews.

But listening to his rants were the least of my problems and I actually felt safer in his store than out in the open where my schoolmates could find me, where I could be pushed around, called Runt, at least Mr. Moon never called me Runt an' hit me with rocks.

It was early in the morning, an hour or so before dawn. I was sound asleep, buried deep under my blanket and pillow, my attempt to block out the sounds from earlier in the night.

I didn't hear my father's boots on the floorboards, nor the creaking of the boards under his weight. I didn't wake up until I felt a gloved hand over my mouth. I panicked and struggled to get away.

My father shushed me and calmed me down before removing his hand from my mouth slowly.

"Dad?" I said groggily "what's goin' on?"

"Get dressed Jefferson put only what you can carry into your rucksack only what's necessary."

"Why?" I asked

"Jus' do as I say, be quick 'bout it and quiet 'bout it. I'll pack your saddlebag. You've got five minutes." And with that, my father went through the adjourning door into his room.

I was still half asleep as I quickly dressed, then packed some things into my bag; I was very confused, and as my brain began to wake up, the more confused I became. I didn't hear the normal noises of Armadillo; in fact, if I listened carefully I swore I heard inhuman screams.

I moved to the balcony door and pushed it open slowly looking outside. Before I could get a good look outside, I was yanked away from the door.

"Pa!" I exclaimed and he covered my mouth again.

"Jefferson please!" he replied letting me go.

"What is going on?" I asked stubbornly, I wasn't going to do any more packing until he answered my question.

My father sighed, I've never seen him this concerned, even when Ma got sick he wasn't overly concerned with whatever was ailing her. Sure he got the doctor and did everything he was told regarding her care, but my father, like the rest of us, even Ma herself, all assumed it was just a run of the mill cold.

But the fact that my father did look concerned made me shut my mouth right quick. Gesturing for me not to make a sound, he slid open the door and pointed to the streets below.

The sight before me nearly knocked me off my feet I was so shocked. Grown-ups, grown-ups I'd come to know weren't themselves.

In fact, I was pretty sure I saw Ol' Madam Rue, a woman who "worked" in the saloon running down the road towards the Marshals office on her hands and feet.

I nearly threw up my supper when I saw one man tackle another to the ground as blood exploded everywhere. My father tried to shield my eyes from that, but it was too late I'd seen.

I turned to my father, as he pulled me back into the room, pretty sure I'd had my fill of looking, which I'd had.

"Something's made the townsfolk go mad, like mad dogs." My father explained softly, "I've got to get you out of here."

"No, sir." I replied I eyed his Winchester leaning against the bed "iffen you're going to fight I'm going to stay here with you." I grabbed my slingshot from my rucksack "I can fight with you."

"I'm afraid it's going to take more than a toy, but I appreciate the offer son."

"I don't want to go…" I argued then a thought crossed my mind "where am I going to go, iffen these things are here, they could be all over New Austin, there might not be a safe place. Wouldn't it be safer for me iffen I stayed with you?"

"It's not like I'm sending you by yourself Jeffy boy. Harold Falk is going too, he's taking the res' of the women and children out of town to Fort Mercer. It's defenses haven't been breached and is the safest place around. Me and the others are going to stay on high ground and defend Armadillo as long as we can. Hopefully, we can find a cure 'fore this thing takes over the country."

"What if it already has?" I asked, my body shaking.

My father hugged my shoulders

"Don't worry about the 'what ifs', let me worry about that."

In addition to my slingshot, my father gave me his small revolver to take with me. I've shot it a couple of times and can handle the kickback pretty well. Though my father warned me it was only to be used in case of an emergency, and I wasn't to point it at anyone, cept them who weren't living my father cautioned me.

Getting out of the saloon proved to be a tricky thing. My father went first out onto the railing, my horse Timber was hitched below.

Considering he's usually in the stable behind the saloon, his presence made me realize that my father had been getting everything prepared long before he woke me up.

In the distance, nearest the church/school/cinema, I could see smoke rising, the smell of something rotting had filled the air and was assaulting my nostrils and it only took me moments to realize that smell was human flesh.

Out on the balcony, my father made sure I had everything packed up tight, the commotion up near the church was reaching epic proportions and I knew it wouldn't be long before the commotion made its way to us. I could also see near the train-station a lone wagon, packed full of people and bags; leading this wagon on his own mount was Mr. Falk.

Far off down the dirt road, I could see dust being kicked up, the first group of refugees was on their way to Fort Mercer, I would be with the second and final group, the first group that left was small, a trial group to see how dangerous the road to Fort Mercer was.

My father whistled and Mr. Falk whistled back.

"Ok Jefferson, this is it. stay close to Mr. Falk, do what he tells you and don't stop for anything. You remember how to get to Fort Mercer?"

I nodded it was a winding trip, but easy enough to navigate, I had done it with a couple of friends. The rumor had been a notorious outlaw, who was like a modern-day Robin Hood only crazier, had been held up there. Of course, when I went there, just riding by it, it had been during the day and I wasn't trying to escape with my life.

"Are you going to come?" I asked

"If we can get the town's defenses established and help comes from the big city then yes. The word might have already been sent out, the army could be on its way. I might only be a day behind you." My father explained before pausing "ok get now." And with that, he lowered me by my arm down to Timber, who neighed and bucked a bit nervously. Apparently we humans weren't the only creatures in Armadillo nervous about what was coming.

I gave my father a mournful wave as I gently nudged Timber forward to Mr. Falk. I continued to glance back at my father as he hoisted himself up onto the roof off the saloon, next to loads of ammunition and guns. I didn't want to look away from my father; I had a bad feeling about this whole thing as if I might not see him again.

Mr. Falk gestured for me to come over and with a wave of his hand, we headed out of town towards Fort Mercer.

No one spoke as we slowly made our way down the dirt road. Beside me the wagon creaked and groaned, some in the wagon was quietly crying and whimpering, but their sound was drowned out by the wagon. We hadn't seen signs of the creatures who had caused our evacuation, in fact, the desert was quiet, eerily so, I hadn't even heard the yipping of a coyote, which was odd.

We had just reached Mercer Station, where the road would fork when a noise caught my attention. Timber heard it too because he started bucking and ignoring my commands to calm down. I quickly looked around but didn't see anything, not at first.

 

                                                                                            

A flash of movement out of the corner of my eye made me look to my left, something was running through the desert grass, on all fours. It wasn't a coyote I knew that much, I couldn't be sure, but it had a human shape.

I hesitated to acknowledge it and that hesitation was costly. Mr. Falk's horse reared up in the front of the group, he tried to regain control over the animal but was yanked off the horse by the thing I had seen, he hit the ground hard as his horse bolted. Everyone began screaming, the driver of the wagon flicked the reins urging the team to run.

I kicked Timber trying to keep up with the team, my father's words echoed in my mind 'don't stop for anything' I wanted to obey him, but at the same time, I wanted to help Mr. Falk. But there was nothing I could do for him, four or five (it was hard to discern which) of these creatures had swarmed him like bugs to drops of sugar water and I saw blood flying in the air as they ripped him apart.

The group which had consisted of four on horseback, myself, Mr. Falk and two others, and the one wagon, all scattered in different directions, trying to escape the sudden attack of the creatures.

I watched as the wagon went off the road and through the dunes of the desert, it didn't get very far as one wheel hit a large boulder, sending the wagon into the air. The passengers flew into the air as well and landed hard.

Within seconds the hoards swarmed again taking out those unlucky enough to fall out of the wagon, while the horses continued to drag the wagon now missing two wheels through the desert. A handful of creatures followed it, grabbing those that fell out of the unmanned wagon.

This happened in the span of thirty seconds and by the time I had regained myself to realize it, a mass of creatures was running towards me, some on all fours, some running with their arms outstretched. I didn't think of anyone but myself, I kicked Timber hard as we galloped down the dirt road, outrunning the creatures easily.

However, panic and fear left no room for sense in my mind. Instead of heading towards Fort Mercer, which would've been easy I kept going, I let Timber make the decision of where to go. I wanted as much distance between those creatures and myself as possible and my horse was my only friend right now.

A screech that pierced my ears echoed around me and I rode past a pack of the creatures, allowing me a good look at them for the first time. The smell I had experienced back in Armadillo of rotting flesh was even worse now that I was feet from it.

Some of these creatures looked as if they had just crawled from the grave, while others looked fresh enough to have only just become one. Some were barely clothed, some had flesh falling off their bodies, and even some were missing limbs.

One reached for Timber's rump, near my saddle-pack and I quickly whipped out my father's revolver and fired. I'm not a good shot, after all, I've only shot the gun a few times and was lucky to hit the bottles I've shot at. This time Lady Luck was with me, I managed to nail the creature right in the head, I felt sick as its head exploded, blood and brains flying in the air.

I closed my eyes and urged Timber to move faster, he had already given so much I was afraid he would run himself to death. I don't know how long we ran, it felt like hours, days, who knows. I just urged Timber onward, slowing only to a trot once in a while so he could catch his breath.

I felt exhaustion taking hold, my canteen thumped against my leg and I resisted the urge to drink, I didn't know where I was going to end up, Timber couldn't run forever, he would have to stop eventually and when he did there might not be water for either of us.

In the distance a shape loomed, the bright sunset was blinding, but the shape looked so familiar I could've sworn I was seeing things, a mirage perhaps. It was a house.

I pulled the reins, slowing Timber to a mere trot as we neared the house. It was abandoned, and it had been for a long time. A part of me told me to be wary of this place, something wasn't right here, but I was so exhausted so drained I just wanted to lay down anywhere.

I slid off of Timber and patted his neck, praising him for his effort. I took a sip of water, then poured some into my cap to allow Timber his share. I slowly walked up the hill towards the house; it was decrepit and certainly unlivable. But I didn't care.

Timber followed me up the steps and through the front door, furniture lay scattered about, the large stairs split at the top, with a hallway to the left and a landing that worked its way around to the other side of the house. Not as secure as I would've liked if anything did come into the house, dead or alive, they'd be able to climb the stairs. I'd worry about that later, for now, I had to find water. When I examined the kitchen finding nothing in the way of food or even water, though I had been hopeful.

My mind flashed back to school, a map that the teacher had shown us of New Austin and I suddenly remembered one location on the map…Tumbleweed a town that was similar in design to Armadillo, it had only lasted a year or two before it was abandoned when the railroad went around it instead of through it. Following its abandonment, it had become a known hideout for outlaws and why not, it was a perfect place to hide with its array of half-destroyed buildings, tight corners, and vantage points for snipers.

This house was like a castle overseeing its kingdom, ready to defend it from all angles and despite the horrific exodus from Armadillo that ended as quickly as it started I was awed by this house and the fact that I could quite possibly be the only soul, living or dead in Tumbleweed, it was mine and I hoped it would stay that way.

It was so quiet that if I held my breath I could hear nature speaking. One thing I definitely heard was the sound of running water. I followed the sound; stopping every now and then to be sure I was going in the right direction. Water made sense; after all, if the outlaws had lived here they had to get their drinking water from somewhere.

Behind the house, about thirty feet from the back door was a pump. Timber followed me through the house and out the back door; he must have heard the sound too. We made our way to the pump and I took hold of the handle, it took a few pumps but water began to flow from the pipe. Timber stepped forward and began drinking while I continued to pump. When he finally finished I filled my canteen for later and drank my fill from the pump itself.

The afternoon was getting close to dusk and the heat was unbearable, but I had to deal with it and explore the rest of the house, make sure it would be safe to spend the night, safe from the creatures at least and if not, find someplace covered and high up to sleep.

I led Timber back to the house and removed his saddle, blanket, and bridle. I placed them on an overturned chair and used my hand to brush off the mud, dirt, and blood that had dried and caked to Timber's fur. He whinnied and nudged me with his head and I realized he was just as scared about the situation as I was, he understood the danger too, but I could also see he was just as exhausted.

I took out a piece of flint from my pack, that my father had thought to pack for me, a curtain hanging limply from the broken window caught my attention and I ripped a piece, tying it to the broken leg of a chair I created a torch, which I lit using my flint. Despite the sun outside, inside the house was very dark, almost unnatural.

A glow coming from under a doorway caught my attention I moved my torch towards the door, holding it out in front of me. I turned the knob slowly and the light went out. I took a deep breath and counted to three before I pushed the door open, it was a study of sorts, books scattered around destroyed as much as the rest of the house. The only thing standing upright was a lantern, unlit and sitting on the floor.

I reached forward and put my hand over the lantern, expecting to pull it back from the heat, assuming it had only just been blown out, but the lantern was cold to the touch, a testament that it had not been used in a long time. I could've sworn I saw it glowing.

Quickly I backed out of the room and ran to the main room, I was suddenly apprehensive about staying here. I remembered that after the teacher had discussed the cause of Tumbleweed's abandonment, my classmates started their own discussion at lunch-time, the topic was based around the town really being a ghost town.

My classmates all had stories to tell, things their parents had experienced, the things they had heard, things they claimed they had seen themselves. It always seemed like they'd try to out-tell each other, with the stories getting more and more outrageous. The common theme was Tumbleweed was not just abandoned, its residence had all randomly vanished into thin air, some claimed that they were all brutally murdered, others that a contagious disease had swept through the town and killed all the residence. Whatever the cause, it made the town a literal ghost town, complete with stories, stories that I enjoyed, but had been reluctant to believe, until now of course.

After what I had seen today though, my feeling of apprehension was outweighed by the fact I knew I was probably safer somewhere in this town overnight, then I was wandering the roads, trying to get to Fort Mercer, especially with those things out there. I just had to figure out what was the best place.

Picking up my saddlebag and rucksack and finally scratching Timber behind his ears, I headed up the weak stairs carefully. They creaked and groaned as I walked up them. The split really had me lost, I didn't know which would be the safer route to go and then I realized that the rooms all connected a way to move to each room without stepping onto the landing, but that didn't help me and my defenses any.

This wasn't going to work at all, true the house had actual beds and was high up on a hill like a castle, but it was defenseless and wouldn't make for a good, safe spot to sleep.

Not even bothering to look at the rest of the house I wandered back out the front door. There was still no sign of any living soul besides me and Timber, who followed me out of the house. The first building I saw was a dilapidated barn, which might work, barns have lofts, and ladders to get to them, no way a creature would be able to climb that.

 

                                                                       

Instead of a ladder though, I found another staircase going right to the loft. I felt my heart sink, was there no place here that had a busted staircase that the undead couldn't climb? But I had to admit it was better than the house, not to mention the staircase looked really weak, a few good blows with something heavy might jar it loose, and I could find rope or something I could attach that to the top and climb that easier enough, I could even make a pulley system to get my stuff up there once the stairs were gone.

In one of the old stalls, I found a sturdy piece of rope, I just hoped it was sturdy enough. I climbed to the top of the loft and looked out the roof towards the town, it didn't look like ANY of the buildings were going to help me, even the saloon, built similar to the one in Armadillo didn't look all that secure at least not from a distance and I was running out of daylight to find something. It had to be the barn for the night, I had no other choice, at least for now.

I made sure some of my heavier things were up on the loft, such as Timber's saddle and my saddlebag before I tied the rope from the strongest looking beam, it just barely made the ground. I tested the rope and the beam a couple of times, climbing up the rope and tugging on it to make sure it and the beam held my weight. Once I was satisfied with the test I went to the next step, I found a rock and the remnants of a hammer in one of the abandoned buildings and brought it back to the barn.

"Here goes nothing," I muttered, double checking my rope, I hit the weak beam supporting the stairs as hard as I could. At first, nothing happened except me nearly dropping the hammer on my foot from the force, pain shooting up my arms. More determined than before I hit it again and that did it, the beam tumbled to the ground and with it, the stairs came down frighteningly easy and I had to jump out of the way so it didn't crush me. Now the only way to the loft of the barn was my rope.

I hoped that if the town was invaded by the creatures, they wouldn't be able to jump high and I hoped they couldn't climb the rope. They could run, that I had seen them do, chasing after Timber and I, but jumping and especially climbing seemed to be difficult. My father had said he and the others would stay on the higher ground to defend Armadillo, which made me sure I would be safe, at least for now.

Timber came up behind me and nudged me hard with his head, I hated to leave him on the ground level. But Timber is smart and resourceful if anything came he knew how to defend himself and as a last resource, run. I've got a whistle that's loud and sharp, and Timber's hearing is exceptional, if I whistled, he'd come back quickly.

It was started to get dark, night was coming to Tumbleweed and I was beyond exhausted. I scratched Timber's ears and climbed the rope to the loft, remembering to pull it up. I hated to admit I was scared, but after everything that had happened to me, I was very scared, homesick, and hungry. As I laid down on my bedroll, using my rucksack as a pillow, I could see the stars through the roof of the barn and felt comforted by them as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

Considering the previous day, I expected to have nightmares; dead creatures chasing me around, trying to kill me, things like that. Surprisingly I slept pretty soundly, until morning that is.

A scream shot me awake, an inhuman scream that sent chills down my spine. I crawled to the loft door and looked out into the town; the creatures were everywhere, they stalked around, while some crawled on all fours. They screamed and made gurgling noises that were not only disgusting but chilling.

As I watched, a couple let out a howl and walked past the loft window. They hadn't noticed me yet, but no sooner had that thought crossed my mind, when suddenly another one let out a scream, calling the herd of them to the barn. They crowded inside looking up at me with skin hanging off their faces, eyes falling out of their sockets, and limbs missing or distorted. The smell was unbelievable and suffocating, the creatures knew I was there and they were trying to figure out how to get to me.

I reached into my pack and pulled out my slingshot, I shot a couple right in the head, but it didn't deter them, they kept coming and with only three shots left in my father's revolver and only a couple rounds to reload the gun, I wasn't about to waste my ammo on the now twenty at least creatures that had crowded into the barn or were stalking the outside looking for another way in.

I had trapped myself in this mess and with only a little water, and even less food, I knew I was in trouble; I should've tried to get to Fort Mercer or at least tried to get back to Armadillo. not only was I trapped out here, but no one knew I was here, except me, my horse, and the hordes of the undead.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

                                                                                                                                                    

 

The last thing John Marston wanted to do after dealing with the undead in Blackwater, Thieves Landing, and of course the whole incident at the McFarland Ranch where he had been forced to shoot Drew McFarland, well he wasn't really in the mood to deal with more of the undead.

As he neared Armadillo, he hoped that it was clear at least, that it somehow managed to defend itself from the hordes. However, when Marston pulled his horse to a stop near the abandoned church just outside of town he knew that wasn't the case. He could hear the inhuman screams even from this distance and he could see the smoke billowing in the air from the town, a similar horizon to the other towns.

Knowing he'd probably regret it, Marston spurred the horse to move again and guided him slowly down the road. He pulled the horse to a stop again, this time just behind the schoolhouse/movie theater. Given the way these things acted, riding a horse into town was like putting up a big sign that advertised fresh meat. Taking this into consideration, Marston dismounted the horse and slapped its rump sending it off into the desert and therefore out of harm's way.

Quietly, Marston snuck down the small hill and tried to stay out of sight as he neared the buildings, it was then he got a good look at Armadillo. The place was more overrun then even Thieves Landing had been. The undead creatures were everywhere, and only a handful of people seemed to be defending what was left to defend the town.

Gathered on the different rooftops, stood four men and one woman; Marshal Johnson seemed to be in the wind, as were his deputies, Marston didn't even see the old crazy shopkeeper Herbert Moon. Marston figured if anyone was going to be fighting off the zombies it would've been any one of those men, but he didn't see anyone he recognized.

A herd of the undead noticed Marston and began running towards him, arms extended, while some ran on all fours. Quickly he pulled out his revolver and in succession shot five of them right in the head, putting them down easily. Without waiting for more to notice him, Marston climbed up to the roof of the bank and made his way over to one of the men trying to defend the town.

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes mister," the man said, his voice sounding like sandpaper like he hadn't had water in a while and he was sunburned beyond belief, Marston wondered for a moment how long he'd been up on the roof. "I'm running out of ammo, you got any rifle rounds?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Marston replied, he pulled out what he could spare and handed it to the man who looked at him with grateful eyes

"Thank you kindly, mister, this here will come in real handy. These things can be put down just gotta go for the head shot," as if to demonstrate the man took aim and fired one shot, down went the zombie with ease.

Figuring this spot was as good as any, Marston knelt down next to the man and began firing, putting down zombie after zombie, until only a handful remained.

Between Marston, the sunburned man, and the other four on rooftops they put down the rest of the zombies. But not before one man got overconfident and moved from his rooftop perch to the balcony of the saloon.

Apparently, the zombies had no problem with stairs as a few of them, including one nasty looking one with two hatchets already sticking out of his skull, mounted the stairs, and overtook the man before the rest of the shooters could do anything about it.

Even Marston had to turn away from that scene as the blood gushed up into the air as the hoard devoured the man. Once they were satisfied, they turned their attention back to their next meal. They were all congregating in one area making it difficult to get a clear shot. Marston was tempted to call attention on himself and pull them out into the open, but before he could even consider it, a few people on horseback rode into town, firing their guns in the air and at the occasional zombie.

Clearly trigger happy and overconfident, the idiots slowed down as they reached the general store to shot a couple of the remaining zombies. They were so preoccupied with those few, they didn't see the dozen or so that came running from the saloon and pulled one of them off his horse, devouring him and the animal in a bloody sea of zombies, his companion didn't stick around to face the same fate as his friend and spurred his horse hard, bolting out of town, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

As sad and needless as this was, it gave Marston and the others the chance they needed to bring down the rest of the zombie hoard. The shooting didn't stop until the last zombie hit the ground, clearing the town.

A loud applause arose from the victors and Marston couldn't help but smile at the celebration as everyone began climbing down from the rooftops to enjoy a moment of peace and a chance to resupply.

The man who Marston has shared the rooftop with climbed down and made his way quickly to the saloon, Marston wasn't sure why, but he followed him.

Inside, the man was behind the counter pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He nodded at Marston when he spotted him and poured a glass for him too.

"I'd normally stick to water, ain't much of a drinker, but no one seems to be sure what's causing this here plague. Some folks are saying it in the water so don't drink it. I ain't sure what it's in, but a man's gotta drink something." He threw back the shot of whiskey and retched a little as the burning liquid his scathing throat.

"So they say," Marston agreed with the last thing the man said

"Samuel McGrath, everyone just calls me Sam though," the man said holding out his hand "and I sure do appreciate you showing up and helpin' us."

"Marston, John Marston and you're welcome,"

Sam stared at Marston for a second

"You the outlaw that was helping bring in that gang up at Fort Mercer?" he asked

"Among other things, yeah," Marston replied

"Where you coming from John?"

"Just came from the McFarland Ranch, before that I was in Blackwater, just trying to get some information on what the hell is going on."

"Damned if I knew," Sam replied pouring two more drinks "we never had any warning. All of a sudden three days ago, some folks come riding into town before dawn screaming that the cemetery up there near the old church is emptying out, the dead that's buried there are coming out of the grave and attacking the living. A few apparently got bit and bam they joined the undead. We got as many of the women and children outta town as possible, loaded 'em up on wagons and horses and sent 'em out to Fort Mercer. Word had it that some folks were holed up in there and were accepting refugees. Its walls are too high for these things to climb and that main gate, well it would take an army to break it down, we all figured it was the safest place. The rest of us volunteered to stay behind and try to defend the town. We were hoping that the army be coming by now." Sam paused "so I'm assuming things ain't much better up north?"

"No, my wife and son are infected, got 'em in safe keeping till I can figure something out. I was hoping there was a cure in Blackwater, but all I found was a mess and more rumors to add to the pile."

"Where you heading now John?"

"Probably out to Old Fellows Rest, I'm following a foolish lead that might put an end to this whole thing, figured I'd see how Armadillo was holding up first. The Marshal, did he skip out before this whole thing started?"

"Leigh? Shoot no, him and his deputies have been doing their part, haven't seen the deputies for a while, but Marshal he's round somewhere, he was trying to get us more ammo before you showed up. Apparently, he's got some kind of an emergency supply hidden somewhere."

"Well, I'll probably drop in on him and see if he's got any ideas." John stood up and finished the last of his whiskey "thanks for sharing the bottle with me, friend."

Sam took a deep breath

"Mr. Marston, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do me a favor," he paused "I know you don't know me and you're trying to help out your own family, but…well, I sent my boy out with the last wagon train. It was the last train to make it out before the hordes showed up, he was on his own horse. Look I just want to make sure he made it to Fort Mercer okay. He's only ten, he's a smart kid, and resourceful, but we haven't heard anything in three days about the wagons, no one has been able to get out of town to go check. I just got a bad feeling. I can pay you, I don't have much, but I can give you whatever I can."

John thought this over, a part of him knew he didn't have time to be running errands for everyone in New Austin while there was a zombie plague going on, but on the other hand, he was a father and he could put himself easily in this man's shoes. He tried to think about what if this was Jack, he'd want someone to do the right thing and check on him.

"Fort Mercer, you say?"

"Right," Sam reached into his pocket and extracted a photo "it's not in the best shape, we had it a before we left the east coast, right before my wife…died, that's Jefferson right there, in front of his mother, he was eight in that picture, but it's all I got." Sam stared at the bottle in front of him "please Mr. Marston, find my boy, I lost my wife, I can't lose Jefferson too."

John tucked the picture into his pocket and nodded

"I'll do what I can Sam, can't promise anything, but I'll head up to Fort Mercer."

"Thank you, John," Sam paused "wait one second," he moved quickly for a man that had been baking in the hot sun for three days as he disappeared upstairs. He was gone only a moment or two before he came back down, carrying a beautiful Winchester repeater and a small satchel. "Once they attacked, I grabbed what I could and got up to the roof. We had literally just sent the last wagon out of town when these things showed up. This here gun is my pride and joy, I told you I don't have much, but I want you to have it and as much ammo as I can spare."

John took the repeater from Sam and admired it, it was a fine gun and he could see how much it tore Sam to part with it. At this point, the more weapons a person had, the better off they were.

"Tell you what," John said, "consider it a loan, I use it to find your boy, I return him and the gun to you."

Sam nodded and shook John's hand, first thing John had to do was find the Marshal, see if he had any idea about what was going on, then he'd head off to find the kid.

XXX

The ride from Armadillo to Fort Mercer was a sight; there was more undead strutting around than any critters John could remember ever seeing. Fortunately, they were to slow to actually pose a threat to John on horseback at full gallop, not for lack of trying on the undead's part.

As he neared Mercer Station, something caught John's eyes; he wasn't sure what it was at first as he turned the horse in the direction. The closer he got through, he quickly realized it was a wagon, missing an axel and laying in a crumpled heap. It was covered in blood, assorted body parts, like the whole wagon, had been attacked in a drove, and the survivors overwhelmed. He didn't see any of the creatures stalking around but kept a sharp ear out for them just in case as he dismounted the horse and began to search the area.

Judging by the footprints, handprints, and assorted drag marks the attack had been massive; he could see where it had started and where it had ended. Looking at the strewn body parts, John was a little relieved to see that they appeared to be a few adults, not children. He also saw footprints, some of adults, but a number of little footprints that appeared to be running from the area in the direction of Fort Mercer. Maybe some of the survivors had gotten away, made it to Fort Mercer, Sam's kid too most likely.

John climbed back on his horse and guided him around the body parts back to the road towards the fort.

By the time John reached Fort Mercer, he was pretty sure his hunt for Sam's son was going to be over pretty quick. The footprints from the wagon continued without hesitation up the hills and were leading him right to the fort. Clearly, as many as five kids and two or three adults had made it to the fort.

John approached the main gate of Fort Mercer and whistled up to the man who was supposed to be standing guard. He was apparently sleeping instead of watching for survivors. The footprints ended right near the gate, so John hoped for the guard's sake that he hadn't been sleeping when the kids came running. John was ready to throw the guard to the hordes if he didn't find at least five kids inside that fort.

Lazily the guard woke up and leaned down to look at the visitor. He nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, which would've been a bad thing since the chair was right on the edge of the wall, a mistake that would have sent him to the ground below along with some broken bones.

"Hey, you's not infected are you mister, you's one of them?" the guard shouted loud enough to bring the hordes from miles away, added to that he was pointing his gun at John and looked pretty shaky with it, like he was either drunk or just not used to handling a gun.

"I ain't infected you fool and I ain't one of them. Let me in before they come from all the bellowing you're doing up there."

The guard looked like he wanted to just leave John out there to be eaten, but he shouldered his gun and shouted down:

"Open them gates, there's some idiot outside looking to come in, he don't look infected only stupid."

John was now certain he was going to throw that bastard to the undead just as soon as he could, but he was grateful that they opened the gate and let him in.

Once John walked inside, a group of men quickly shut the gate back up and locked it up good and tight. John dismounted his horse and a teenager about fifteen came running over and took the horse's reins and lead it towards the stable. An official-looking man approached him holding out his hand.

"James Seaver, sorry for the treatment Mr.?"

"Marston,"

"Mr. Marston, we have to be careful, some of these things it's hard to tell if they're really undead or not, a lot of the stragglers we've got coming in here look worse than the dead do. 'sides, we've got a lot of youngsters here, have to protect them." James shook Johns' hand and offered him a drink, which John politely refused "where are you coming from Mr. Marston?"

"Armadillo, stopped there to check things out, the town was nearly overrun, we got it cleared out though. Before that Thieves Landing and Blackwater, same story on both of them."

"Pretty typical story from what I've been hearing, Fort Mercer's been a safe haven in this time of despair. As long as our ammunition, food, and water hold out we can make a pretty strong stand here."

"Look I came out here on the askin' of a man in Armadillo, seems his son was coming here on a wagon train, I was hoping to find the kid here."

James' face went ashen at the mention of the wagon train, he took off his hat and clutched it tight between his hands.

"Why don't you come with me Mr. Marston, there is something you need to see."

James led John down a few hallways in the fort to a large room with cots set up. A number of women and a few men were going back and forth to each bed. John looked closely and realized there was seven beds, each with an occupant, seven kids, ranging from about four to thirteen.

"Those some of the kids from Armadillo?" John asked in surprise

"That is everyone from Armadillo, from both wagon trains. Poor little things, not one of them have said a word since they got here."

"How did they get here?" John asked,

"I'd be happy to answer that question Mr. Marston, but first why don't we see if your friend's son is here shall we?"

John nodded, he pulled out the photograph that Sam had given him and between him and James they walked up and down the beds, comparing the photo to the kids. Not one of the kids moved as John leaned close to look, each one just stared straight ahead, right through John. He looked carefully but did not see Jefferson

"I don't see him," John admitted

"Come, Mr. Marston, I'll fix you a drink and we can chat."

XXX

In a small office, James took a seat behind a desk and offered John a seat as well. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for himself and for John.

"Three days ago we were expecting two wagon trains full of women and children. A small exodus from Armadillo to escape the hordes. When the first wagon train failed to arrive, I sent one of my fastest riders out to trace their journey, see what was delaying them. He found what was left of the wagon overturned in the abandoned Mercer station, that little four year old you saw in the hospital there? She was the only survivor. She was small enough that when the wagon overturned, probably from the attacking hordes, she was hidden beneath the axel and the wagon. Jesse found her when he was sifting through the remains and ruble, brought her back to us then went out to warn the other wagon train. He was hoping to escort them here himself, he never returned."

"Sorry for your loss," John said and James nodded "but what about the other kids? The ones from the second train, how'd they get here by themselves?"

"I didn't say they were by themselves. When Jesse failed to return, I wasn't about to send any more riders out. I needed as many here as possible to defend the Fort, and it was getting dark. I hoped to send a small party out in the morning to search for the train and get word back to Armadillo. The sun had just set when we heard screaming, two women were leading a small band of children up the road towards the fort, right behind them, however, was a horde making its way right for them. Instead of opening the gates, we threw down rope ladders and began climbing down, grabbing as many kids as we could and rushing them up over the wall. Miraculously we got all of them. When we went to get the women who had escorted them, it was too late, the hordes were upon us and before we could do anything they had torn one woman to shreds. We got the other one inside, but not before they had mangled her. She died a few hours later. Our resident doctor saw the signs of her being infected and we were forced to throw her body out to the hordes." James took a swig of his whiskey and then another "I have civilians in this fort, children, old folks, injured men, and women. Not just the ones from Armadillo but also refugees from all over New Austin that made it here, I was forced to make a choice to protect those in my care. Those poor children, they watched people they know be eaten alive, it's understandable that they are all in shock." James paused "I am sorry that your friend's son was not among them. We won't know exactly how many were in either wagon train. I'm sure a lot of souls were lost in these past three days."

"Would it be possible for a kid on horseback to have escaped?" John asked, remembering that Sam had mentioned that Jefferson was on his own horse.

"It's possible, not very probable, and especially not probable that he'd survive. There's nothing that could be even remotely considered safe for miles aside from the fort, it's a wide open desert out there Mr. Marston, tough for a grown man to endure let alone a kid. He'd be dead by now Mr. Marston, if not of exposure, then eaten by one of those creatures or some other kind of beast. You're better off restin' here a spell, then return to Armadillo if you're able, give them the news and brace your friend for the news. If his boy ain't here, he's gone."

John wasn't all that comfortable with that, he really didn't want to go and tell Sam that he couldn't find his son. But he did take James up on his offer and James showed him a private room with a cot so that he could get some much-needed rest.

The next morning John made his way to the kitchen area, where one of the women fixed him up some grits and coffee. James was nearby talking to a couple of nuns, he nodded at John holding up a finger for him to wait a moment before sending the nuns on their way.

"How'd you sleep Mr. Marston?" he asked walking over

"Better than I have in a few days that's for sure," John replied sipping the coffee, it was bitter and strong but hit the spot.

"I was thinking after our chat last night, I'd said it was possible but not very probable that a child could survive out there. If he was able to find shelter and water he could last a while, he'd have to be high off the ground and near some kind of water source. Food ain't nearly as important as water, especially in the desert. The human body can last about a week without food, maybe longer, but water if we don't get that in a few days we die."

"What are you saying?" John asked suspiciously

"The only place for miles that a kid could theoretically get too and make some kind of shelter is Tumbleweed. There ain't no kid in this area that don't know about Tumbleweed, most of them avoid it 'cause of the ghost stories, hell even some adults avoid it, but kids know about it, they know it has buildings. Outlaws have been calling Tumbleweed home base for years now, they'd have to have some kind of water source nearby. If that kid made it to Tumbleweed he'd have a fighting chance."

John thought this over, all the times he'd ridden by Tumbleweed, the times he'd explored it looking for buried treasure after the gangs had been cleared out, the time he, the marshal, and the deputies were forced into a prisoner exchange to rescue Bonnie McFarland. He knew the area well and James was right, a kid could find a place to hide and be safe there if he was resourceful, which Sam had assured John, Jefferson was. It was possible, just a bit.

"Thank you for that information James, I think I may just have to check into that."

"Best of luck Mr. Marston, if you're ever in need of shelter, Fort Mercer is open to you, there's a rope ladder on the east side of the fort, them undead have no problem with stairs, but can't seem to master a ladder, it's there if you need it."

John nodded his thanks and headed back out to the stable to find his horse.

XXX

The first stop John made was back at the site of the wagon accident. He wanted to look for something he hadn't done the last time, a trail going opposite Fort Mercer. It took a while to search, there were so many disturbances and upheaval of the ground the tracks were pretty obscure. Until he found one set of hoof-prints, leading away from the scene at full gallop towards Rio Bravo and eventually to Tumbleweed. If James had been right the most logical place for Jefferson to go was Tumbleweed, John had no way of knowing if it was overrun or not, but he had to take the chance he had to see if the kid was there. Bracing himself for the upcoming ride, John took a deep breath, mounted his horse and spurred it towards Tumbleweed.


	3. Chapter 3

The first stop John made was back at the site of the wagon accident. He wanted to look for something he hadn't done the last time, a trail going opposite Fort Mercer. It took a while to search, there were so many disturbances and upheaval of the ground the tracks were pretty obscure. Until he found one set of hoof-prints, leading away from the scene at full gallop towards Rio Bravo and eventually to Tumbleweed.

If James had been right the most logical place for Jefferson to go was Tumbleweed, John had no way of knowing if it was overrun or not, but he had to take the chance he had to see if the kid was there. Bracing himself for the upcoming ride, John took a deep breath, mounted his horse and spurred it towards Tumbleweed.

He had just made it out past Gap Tooth when he heard a female voice calling out to him.

John had become pretty cautious since leaving Blackwater, twice people had stopped him asking for help and both times it ended up to be the worst decision he could've made.

The first tried to steal his horse right out from under him. That sonuv was thrown when John whistled for his horse, which quickly brought in a horde of the undead, they ignored John going for the weaker of the two, the horse thief who had no chance to get away.

John did the decent thing and put a bullet in the guy's head so he didn't join the undead and then threw a fire bottle at the other zombies eliminating both threats.

Looting the bodies John found a good amount of stuff including some rifle and pistol ammo, some moonshine and even better some dynamite, all of which John knew would come in handy especially on suicidal rescue mission.

But the second one turned out to be the more dangerous interaction. A woman had called out to him as he was riding by, just as he had left Thieves Landing for McFarland ranch.

John knew something wasn't right with the woman, but he let it go, he was trying to go by the help out, pay it forward kind of thing, so he offered the woman a ride, unaware that only moments before her and her husband had been attacked, he had been killed, but she had managed to get away, not before one of the creatures bit her, infecting her.

By the time John met up with her, she was already turning, and within a few minutes on horseback John heard growling coming from behind him, felt the woman's grip tighten around his waist. He managed to toss her off the horse before she could bite him and in one swift motion shot her point blank.

He started having flashbacks of that with this similar female voice and he studied her carefully as he inched the horse closer, staying just far enough in case she turned.

"By god are you really alive sir?" she asked moving closer to him

"I spect I am," John replied "whatcha doin' out here? Ain't you seen what's going on?"

"I was on a wagon train, we…we were attacked, I fear I was the only survivor, my cousin… just ripped to shreds by those…those…those things."

John looked the woman over, she appeared to be in better shape than anyone else he'd seen wandering around, so he was pretty sure she wasn't infected; he kept his hand on his revolver just in case.

"You coming from Armadillo?" John asked,

"No sir, Ridgewood Farm, it was overrun, a few stayed behind to try and defend it, but they sent the rest of us on a wagon to Fort Mercer."

"How many were with you?"

"four," the woman explained "oh sir, I know it's a lot to ask during this time of chaos, but would you please give me a ride to Fort Mercer, please, I beg of you, I can pay you," she reached into her small satchel and pulled out a cattlemen's revolver, a real beauty. "My husband gave this to me before he sent me on the wagon, it's yours if you help me."

John rubbed his chin, the last thing he wanted to do was waste any more time, especially by being the guardian angel to all the folk of New Austin, but he couldn't just leave this woman out here in the desert, not with those creatures running around. He'd never forgive himself.

"I can bring you to the ladder they've got on the outside of the fort. I can't bring you inside I've got no time to waste."

The woman nodded and ran over to John, who reached down and pulled her onto the back of the horse, before spurring the animal gently, turning him back towards Fort Mercer.

"So," the woman said as they galloped towards the fort, "you said you've got no time to waste, what exactly are you doing out here?"

"'sides trying to find a cure for this mess?" John asked "my wife and son are infected, I came down from West Elizabeth 'cause I've got friends around these parts, hoping they might have some answers for me. But right now I'm trying to find a missing kid,"

"Missing kid?" the woman asked, "out here, during this?"

"That's what I said," John replied "met his father in Armadillo, 'parently he was heading to Fort Mercer with a wagon train too, they got attacked and only a handful of kids made it to the Fort, he wasn't one of them. He's on his own horse so I'm out here on a wild goose chase looking for 'em."

"That's so sad," the woman said softly "that poor father, what about his mother?"

"Didn't really get the whole story, but from what I gathered, she died not long ago, 'fore they even came out here."

"And then the Apocalypse happens, what a tragedy,"

John could only nod as he moved his horse up the path, the woman who went quiet for a few seconds, let out a blood-curdling scream. The path was blocked by about twenty zombies, a few of which had a strange green glow to them.

He didn't know what to make of these strange zombies, he had seen the ones that ran on all fours, but he couldn't help but stare at this new one, wondering why it was glowing. This lasted about ten seconds as the thing threw its head back and literally shot a bit of green goo at the pair.

John pulled the reins trying to dodge the attack, his reaction was a little slow as the glob landed on his shoulder, the goo burned through his thin shirt and bit at his skin. John yelled out in pain, swearing as he used his gloved hand to brush off the goo. The spitting zombie took aim again and spit at the horse this time.

The horse reared in fear and threw the woman off. John managed to hang onto the horn of his saddle as the woman hit the ground, screaming in terror.

Half the zombies reached for the horse while the other half went for the woman. John's horse sidestepped and kicked at the zombies and John held on with one hand and whipped out his pistol with the other, he took out as many of the undead as he could with a few shots, but the numbers were overwhelming and unfortunately John had to make a choice, save himself and his horse or try to rescue the woman and all three of them be killed.

He made the decision and put as many bullets as he could into the undead, and reluctantly shot the woman in the head putting her out of her coming misery before the zombies could shred her.

Once the deed was done, he spurred the horseback down the path, it wasn't often that John felt guilty about taking a life, especially with all these undead running around; putting a bullet in the head of a corpse was a given situation and taking out someone who tried to take advantage of this situation.

But taking out an innocent woman who wasn't infected, who hadn't tried to take advantage of his generosity, was different, it felt wrong on so many levels.

x-x-x-x

Only four days had passed since hell had literally opened up, unleashing the dead on the living, but it had felt like months.

Jefferson knew his own end was coming. His meager food supply had run out the day before, despite his valid attempt to keep it going as long as possible. But even that was not his main concern, his main concern was the dwindling sloshing sound of water in his canteen. He had enough water for one more day, maybe.

If he stood and looked through one of the knots in the barn wood, Jefferson could see the well, just outside of the mansion. In all reality he had stopped bothering to look, it just reminded him what was so close yet was certain death to try and get to.

The zombie population had apparently chosen Tumbleweed as their permanent stomping ground, which meant Jefferson who had escaped to Tumbleweed was trapped in this barn, slowly dying of hunger and thirst.

An inhuman scream echoed below him and Jefferson dragged himself to edge of the loft to peer down. A stray dog had walked into town and had caught the populous attention.

Jefferson closed his eyes and rolled back away from the edge so he didn't have to watch the dog be ripped to shreds. It was bad enough that he heard the yelps from the dog and the crunch as its bones were broken he didn't need to watch it get eaten by the undead.

Jefferson's hand brushed against his father's revolver, he had only fired two shots since leaving Armadillo, which meant he had four rounds left in the barrel, and only three boxes of extra ammo. Not enough to defend himself.

Even if he ran for the well, he'd have only a few shots to make count and he was a poor shot, to begin with. He'd be overwhelmed before he made it out of the barn. He swore these things could smell fear, it was the only thing that made any sense.

He knew he just had to accept that he was going to die soon. He just had to decide if he would allow his dehydration to do the job or did he just take matters into his own hand.

As darkness began to wash over Tumbleweed, Jefferson took one brief sip of water, four small sips, that was roughly how much he had left and even that was pushing it.

He curled up as tight as he could and ignored the dryness of his throat, the dead pan pain of his stomach, and the full-on cold of the desert night, as he slowly drifted off to sleep, in the back of his mind, hoping when morning came, either this nightmare was over or he just didn't wake up at all.

Meanwhile, just on the outskirts of the town, on a small overlook that offered a perfect vantage point of the town, John was not surprised that Tumbleweed wasn't any less spooky with the undead milling around.

The whole town was full of the infected, everywhere he looked with the scope of his sniper rifle they were stalking, except for the buildings, there didn't appear to be any in the buildings, at least none that he could see.

John had spent a good amount of time exploring Tumbleweed, searching for buried treasure, picking fights with the bandits, and pulling in bounties from the town itself. He knew the layout of the town pretty well and knew for a fact that there were only two places that a kid or anyone for that matter could safely hide, staying above the hordes, and staying out of the elements, the mansion on top of the hill or the barn.

While the house would seem more logical, especially for a kid, to an adult, the barn with its high point off the ground, fencing, access to the road, and one real point of entry would be the better choice.

But John was hinging on the belief that Sam's kid was not only smart enough to come to that same conclusion, but he also had to keep a fact in the back of his mind, the kid may not have even made it this far, he might not even be here. New Austin was a big place and on horseback, the kid could be anywhere.

John moved his scope a little towards the barn, while there did seem to be a lot of undead all over the place, they really did seem to be congregating at the barn, there was at least fifty of them wandering around it and every once in a while, one would look up into the loft, before sauntering on.

He gently spurred the horse closer, maintaining a distance between himself and the town line, also he tried to keep the sounds to a minimum, making sure the zombies didn't detect him until it was time.

Any other time trying to sneak into Tumbleweed wasn't difficult, the bandits that hung out there weren't exactly high intelligence, even compared to the zombies that he now faced. The main difference was, these things seemed to have a sixth sense about their surroundings. They knew when something not dead was nearby and would congregate in a pack to hunt it. John had seen it way too many times since leaving Beecher's Hope.

John calmly looked in his saddlebag for supplies; checking to see what he had to work with. He had some of the dynamite and even some fire bottles left over, he could create a diversion, maybe take out some of the zombies long enough to get to the barn. It wouldn't take much to catch the zombie's attention and checking the barn wouldn't take that long either. In fact, John was pretty sure if he could just get close to it, he'd be able to see if it was clear or if the kid was in there.

The horse was actually the main issue, the beast refused to go any closer to the Tumbleweed and in all reality, John didn't blame it. The town was supposedly haunted on a normal circumstance, with the undead infestation it was even worse.

Knowing he'd probably regret it, John dismounted the horse. He held his breath as he focused the scope on crumbling structure, waiting for movement whether from someone alive or one of the undead. But something else caught his attention first.

John had a pretty good memory, especially when it came to how things were set up and he was pretty damn sure that the last time he had stood in the barn, there had been a staircase leading up to the hayloft. Instead, that same staircase lay in a crumbled heap on the ground. This wasn't done by the dead, someone alive had done that. He moved his eye-line up to the loft of the barn, the moonlight illuminated the area and gave John a clear look into the loft…he could see the outline of a kid laying on the loft floor.

The kid had done it, god damn it the kid had survived. John quickly moved out of the barn, trying to keep out of sight. It had been what four days since that wagon train had left Armadillo, John had no way of knowing what kind of shape the kid was in or if he was even alive.

Calling out to him might cause him to panic and panic would bring the hordes and John wasn't prepared to take on fifty or more undead attacking at once and what was worse, the kid could be dead and John would be wasting his own breath calling out to him and possibly risking his own life.

He carefully slid down the steep hill, trying to keep the noise to a minimal. A few steps and the dead hadn't noticed him, which worked in his favor, maybe he'd be able to get there, get the kid and get out without alerting the hordes.

Behind the barn was pretty clear, the only zombie meandering around was a pretty easy mark, so John used one of his tomahawks to take the corpse out in a swift and quiet method.

He retrieved the tomahawk and moved closer to the barn, so far so good, but the same question remained, how was he going to get the kid's attention without getting the zombie's attention too?

John reached down to the dirt and felt around until he found a pebble, he took aim and chucked the rock against the roof. There was no movement from inside. For a second, John literally felt his heart sink a little, the lack of movement was further evidence that the kid was probably dead, but he couldn't let it go, he picked up another rock and threw it at the roof.

Seconds ticked by and John was about to turn to leave when movement caught his attention. Weak and clearly struggling to sit up, the kid looked out the window of the loft, he looked surprised to see John and even disoriented as he tried to stand up. John put a finger to his mouth hoping the kid got the message to stay quiet and lay low. Now came the real challenge…how the hell was he going to get the kid out of the barn and away from the zombies safely?

x-x-x-x-x


	4. Chapter 4

Checking his rucksack, John was elated to find three bottles of Wes Dickens' zombie "deterrent" the potion had the opposite effect on the zombies and actually attracted them to it like moths to the flame, if he timed it right, it might be just the trick for getting to the kid. A small pack of zombies had congregated so close to the barn that it was impenetrable, but one lone zombie was shuffling away from the barn, heading towards some of the other decrypted buildings and John smiled at his good fortune.

He quietly stood up and with a mighty throw, nailed the lone zombie right in the head. It stumbled a bit but began to glow a bit as the bottle shattered on impact and dosed the creature in the liquid.

Almost instantly the other zombies let out a scream as their senses clued them into the attracting sent and just as John had hoped, a majority of them began shuffling towards their comrade. Hoping he had enough time, John ran towards the barn.

He was dumbfounded when he reached the door and saw that the stairs to the loft were laying in a crumpled heap. He glanced up at the loft and realized what had happened, the kid must've done it. In trying to protect himself which was a smart idea, the kid had also made it that much more difficult to be rescued.

"KID," John called as loudly as he dared "Jefferson," a few precious seconds ticked by, but before John could start contemplating another way to get to the kid, a hand weakly appeared over the edge of the loft, followed by Jefferson's head, he was pale and looked half dead, but John could tell he wasn't infected, just near death from exposure and lack of provisions.

"Mister…" he called weakly as if just that one word was painful "mister I'm sorry,"

"No time for apologies kid, we've got to get the hell out of here." John looked around the barn and realized there was no way he was getting up there. "Kid, I need you to fall down here, I'll catch you."

Jefferson contemplated that move and weakly shook his head, ground level meant zombies…it meant death.

"N…I can't" he managed to whisper "the dead'll get me."

"They won't kid, I won't let 'em," John reassured him "my name is John Marston, I met your dad, Sam, he's helping to defend Armadillo," Jefferson perked up a little at hearing his dad's name, but John noticed he still wasn't moving towards the edge, not until he caught a glimpse of the gun strapped to John's back, that wasn't just any gun, that was his dad's Winchester.

"O…Okay," Jefferson said, he pulled his rucksack over his head and willed himself closer to the edge.

"I'm going to count to three, on three just fall I'll catch you, kid,, I swear," John quickly glanced through the broken window, no zombies yet, either they were still preoccupied with their friend or they had found something else to focus on, whichever scenario fit better, John knew it was only a matter of time before they'd be sauntering towards the barn. "On three. One… two…three!" John called as loud as he dared as Jefferson did exactly what he was supposed to, he allowed himself to roll off the broken planks. John kept his arms outstretched and cradled Jefferson as he landed in his arms. This kid was younger than Jack, by a good five-six years and just in a couple of days he was so thin and dehydrated, John could barely feel his weight in his arms. This worked in their favor, however, making it that much more easy to slip out of the barn quietly, as John made his way back towards the road, Jefferson trying desperately to hold onto his neck, but being far too weak to really do so.

When the pair was a decent distance from the barn, John took his chances and whistled. Not only did this catch the attention of his horse as it came barreling towards them, but also a pack of zombies.

"Shit," John growled "hang on kid!" he fired a few rounds at the advancing zombies and nailed a couple right in the head, but what really concerned him was the green glow coming from the barn itself. He recognized that glow, that was those damn exploding ones. A split second after that thought crossed his mind, a glowing green ball was launched in their direction, giving John only moments to react and duck, Jefferson despite how weak he was let out a terrified yelp and clung to John tighter. Not wanting to waste any more time, John began running towards his horse, turning back every now and then to fire off a round. It was tricky, but horse and man reached one another amongst the zombie hordes, John threw Jefferson up onto the horse and climbed up behind him, the kid was so weak John didn't think he could hang on from behind, least if he was in front John had a better chance of protecting him.

As the hordes advanced, John spurred his horse back towards the road that cut through Tumbleweed, as fast as they were, the zombies could not keep up with the horse and were soon left in a cloud of dust.

As they galloped, John contemplated where to go; a ride back to Fort Mercer was the obvious choice, but Jefferson was so close to death's door John didn't think he'd make it. The only settlement close enough to be of any help as much as John hated to admit, was Rathskeller Fork, it was close enough to give both of them a chance to rest and recuperate before making the trip to Fort Mercer. The only problem was, John didn't know what kind of state it was in, given the number of zombies he had encountered so far, he was pretty certain that Rathskeller would be no different, which meant putting the kid at risk. But as they galloped along, Jefferson's head bobbing as he struggled to stay conscious, John knew he had no choice, he had to risk it.

John's horse was fast enough that he didn't have any worry that the zombies would catch them, even the ones that were running on all fours seemed too slow to keep up with a healthy horse. John didn't even bother shooting the undead as they passed them, it wasn't worth the bullet unless one or two were directly in his way that constituted a bullet to the head.

As they approached the outpost, another rider galloped past them, guns blazing behind him. He looked at John and Jefferson with a look of pure horror on his face,

"Turn back Mister!" He bellowed "ain't worth it, they's lost to the undead!" he galloped down the mule path in the direction of Tumbleweed and John knew it was pointless to call out to the rider, he had made up his mind and would figure it out right quick that he was heading towards death. Though judging by the screams coming from Rathskeller, it didn't sound much better, but he had no choice, he had a dying kid in his saddle, Jefferson would never make it any further than they had already gone.

John turned the horse through the gates and winced as he realized what the rider had been talking about, the settlement was chock full of the undead and was being defended by four men and one woman on the roof of the building. Left unattended and unused was a Gatling gun, not far from the rope ladder. One of the older men situated on the roof moved towards the overhang, but this proved to be a bad idea as it gave way under his weight, sending him to the ground with a thud, which was quickly replaced with screams of bloody murder as the man was literally ripped apart by the undead. John had to think now, how the hell was he going to get a half conscious kid onto that roof and get himself up there without getting his leg chewed off by a zombie.

He felt around in his rucksack and sighed, he had two more of Wes Dickens formula left and knew he had to use them sparingly until he could find more of the ingredients. But this was a necessity, he aimed and threw the bottle at the furthest zombie from him. Instantly the corpse glowed green and a pack swarmed it,

"Hey, I need some help down here!" John called to the man closest to the ladder "this kid is dying!"

"He ain't infected is he?" the man replied "we ain't taking anyone who's infected,"

"He aint infected!" John growled "neither am I, he needs some water! Now help me or he's gonna die then he will be infected!"

The man hesitated, but slowly leaned down, holding his hand out to John; keeping an eye on the horde not far from them, John boosted Jefferson up and the man grabbed him by the shirt collar, yanking him up over the edge of the building.

A scream caught John's attention, the hordes had finished with their investigation and were on the hunt for fresh meat. John turned his horse around and hopped off the animal, he sent it off towards the desert and out of harm's way, before climbing the ladder. He got off the ground just in time as the hordes reached for his boots, had this process taken a second or two more John wouldn't have made it up the ladder in time.

John was running low on ammo so he really didn't have any to spare, but he knew how to operate the Gatling gun.

"Hey, anyone using this?"

"Shit mister, ain't no one wants to use that thing, knocked Billy clear on his ass, them zombies gobbled him up real quick."

"I can fire it," John grumbled, he positioned himself behind the gun and let loose on the hordes as they began their next assault. Thanks to the Gatling gun, the assault was cut down significantly and when it was all clear, the cheers went up, but unlike the cheers in Armadillo, it was only halfhearted.

John found Jefferson off to the side where the man who had pulled him up had deposited him. He was barely conscious and John knew he was fading fast.

"I need some water." John called out, but no one answered him, thinking the gunfight had deafened the rooftop fighters he called out again, only louder "any of you have any water, this kid needs something to drink!"

"Shoot mister we ain't got no water, that's how's they infected us."

"Who is they?"

"Them Mexicans, they poisoned the water mister, they want to turn us all into mindless cannibals."

"Look I don't care who you think did this, do you have any water or not, this kid is dying!"

"We dumped it all," the man shot back "lessen you want to make a break for the water pump over there, ain't no guarantee that ain't goin' turn your boy there into a flesh eater."

John growled and scratched his chin before he could jump down and try his luck at the water pump, he looked back at the kid, did he really want to risk the water. Before he could make that decision a woman knelt down next to Jefferson.

"Here boy, drink this," she held out a flask to Jefferson, but the boy was so out of it he didn't even realize what was in front of him. John, however, wasn't about to be trusting anyone, Jefferson wasn't his kid, but if this was Jack he wouldn't a perfect stranger give him something to drink out of a random flask.

"Hey, what is that," John rumbled reaching for the flask. The woman didn't seem startled by his gruffness, she simply shrugged and handed the flask to John

"Them boys may be total idiots, but they are right about one thing, it ain't safe to be drinking the water 'round here. Not with the dead landing in the wells an' such. But your boy needs to drink something."

John held the flask up to his nose and gave it a sniff, it clearly wasn't water, but it wasn't alcohol either.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's tea, I boiled the water myself and the tea leaves are from England."

"Tea?!" John exclaimed his took a sip, it was tea, didn't taste great, but it wasn't the worse thing he'd ever had.

"Yes tea," the woman replied, she took the flask back from John and held it to Jefferson's chapped lips, he didn't even acknowledge that there was something in front of him, John could still see his chest moving and knew he wasn't gone yet, but he felt a rise of panic wondering if he had made a mistake coming to Rathskeller, had he gambled with Jefferson's life and lost?

The woman was insistent and gently wet Jefferson's lips with the tea, he instinctively licked his lips, but his lips were so dry that he couldn't wet them enough take it all in.

"Come on kid," John whispered

"What's his name?" the woman asked

"Jefferson,"

"Come on Jefferson, you need to drink darling." She tipped the flask closer to his lips and he began to drink slowly "there you go, that-a-boy, easy now, little sips. You're safe now."

"M…mam…" Jefferson managed to croak out "momma…"

"Shh, you rest now." The woman capped the flask and stuck it tenderly back in her corset. "where are you and your boy coming from? You a plain fool to be traveling around with a baby right now. Where is his momma?"

"It ain't my idea lady, trust me. I'm bringing him back to his father."

"You ain't his father?"

"No, my name is John Marston, I have a ranch up north, but I've got friends in Armadillo, came down to see if things were better down here and if there was a chance of a cure. My wife and kid are sick."

"Sorry to hear that John, Armadillo you say? Who you know in Armadillo,"

"The marshal and his boys, couple others."

The woman scoffed and shook her head.

"That useless man, let me guess he was hiding out under his desk when the undead started walking around."

"I wouldn't say that." John replied "you know the marshal I take it?" he looked the woman over and sighed, he recognized her now, she was one of the…entertainers at the saloon in Armadillo, Gwen was her name. He remembered saving her life from a scoundrel that was trying to assault her at knifepoint. She seemed to recognize him too.

"I remember you now, you were that outlaw turned bounty hunter that was helping the marshal out." She paused "how'd you end up with this kid?"

"When I stopped in Armadillo it was overwhelmed, I helped clear it out and one of the guys mentioned his son had left with a wagon train bound for the fort, he just had a bad feeling that something had happened."

"Do you usually take the word of feelings? 'pecially of a stranger."

"Normally no, but it wasn't too far out of my way and it was one father to another."

"So was the fort overrun?"

John shook his head

"No it was safe, but the kid wasn't there, the wagon trains never made it."

"So how'd you find him?"

"He was hiding out in a barn in Tumbleweed."

"He made it to Tumbleweed!?" Gwen exclaimed, "how long ago?"

"Few days give or take."

"So now you're bringing him home?"

"Yep, then continuing on my way. Been hearing all sorts of rumors about what started this thing, following whatever lead I can."

Gwen looked Jefferson over, pushing his bangs back motherly,

"Well, outlaw, bounty-hunter, friend of that good for nothing marshal, what you're doing for this boy and his father that's plum the stupidest and sweetest thing I've ever heard." She looked down at Jefferson again "he can't move for a while yet John, a day or two should be enough, but he needs rest. That tea I gave him will help, but he needs to see a real doctor for some real medicine." Gwen paused "where are you planning on meeting his pa?"

"Back in Armadillo I 'spect, he's probably safer at the fort, but I promised his father I'd get him back to him."

"Well, as I said, he's got to rest a bit, there's a room below on the other side, it has a ladder directly to the roof, he'll be safe there and can be moved quickly ifen we need to."

John nodded

"Thank you."


End file.
